


Help

by teethandclawsxx



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mind Control, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 13:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10878060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teethandclawsxx/pseuds/teethandclawsxx
Summary: You, a local nature spirit/fey, notice Lawrence dumping a body in your forest, fall in (weird, obsessive) love with him, and decide to take him under your wing. The only problem is, he’s not perfect – yet. But that can be fixed.You can help him.





	Help

**Author's Note:**

> this sorta got away from me and also took an eon to write? regardless, enjoy my terrible self indulgent, whatever-this-is~

You saw him first. You noticed him the _moment_ he stepped foot onto your soil.

He came into _your_ woods. Dragging along with him, _into_. _your_. _woods_. a human. The human, already dead and used. Amusing. Normally humans in your territory don’t start out in that state, but this one had. You payed it no mind in favor of _him_.

 _He_ isn’t human. You may not see humans often in your forest, but you can still tell the difference between what is one and what isn’t. He’s just still wearing his old human skin.

You, for once in your long life, feel inclined to help. You were like that once, too, after all. You managed to shed your human skin on your own. You fear that he won’t. Not everyone can. Not everyone is _you_.

That first visit, you do nothing but watch and tell the trees to make him feel at home. He will be back. You know. You can see himself crawling under his old skin, agitated with the wait to be free. Even if he doesn’t know it yet. He will be back.

Each time he comes, he hides a little less of himself, you notice. You always tell the trees to be on their best behavior. The birds, too. They don’t touch his messes until he is gone. But there is never enough left to implicate him. You, the birds, and the bugs, make sure of this.

You _want_ to keep him safe, and you don’t half-ass.

You aren’t sure how many times he comes to your woods, but you know that your space has become his space when he starts coming alone, to relax. He feels safe. A very small, very sadistic part of yourself wants to let him stay in that state. To watch him _rot_ out of his skin. But most of you wants more for the poor boy. O, he reminds you of yourself. Still, it isn’t the first time that he comes alone that you approach. Or the second.

You need him to feel like this is his space more than it is yours. Otherwise, he will run away and not come back. How will you be able to help him _then_?

Time passes. You consider your options. How best to approach him for this first and most special time….

The next time he comes alone, you approach him, wearing a deer skin in the same way he wears his human skin. You’ve never been so close to him. You can smell how the skin he wears is already rotting. You assume he smells the rotting of the skin you are wearing, too, but he ignores it if he does. He must realize that you are the same, deep down. But he is not yet ready to admit it.

When he sees you, you can see the fear in him. He backs up a step, and finds his retreat cut off by a tree. He seems startled, sure there was no tree behind him. He is always careful. There wasn’t. He assumes he has made a mistake. You’ve never seen him make a mistake. A testament to his inhumanity.

Painfully and suddenly aware you don’t remember how to speak like a human, you flutter your ears and lower your head, without stepping closer. You chose the skin of a doe. You have no horns to prove dominance with. You mean to submit to him, for now. You must fool him to help him. He will understand. Soon enough. He _will_ understand.

He stares down at you, refusing to turn his back, as he gropes for the tree.

Once his escape route is clear, and he feels he can flee if the situation turns, the fear in his eyes softens. You raise a tentative hoof, avoiding eye contact, but watching him intently. He doesn’t move, so you step closer.

He still shows no _more_ fear, so, slowly, you approach, your ears and eyes still lowered submissively.

His stare down at you is intense; wary. But, slowly, he lowers his cold hand and rests it on your soft head. You do not want this moment to last forever. You are impatient, and up close you can see many things behind his eyes. You cannot wait to see the rest of what lie beneath.

Under your breath, in a manner he has no hope of understanding, you tell an animal somewhere to make a noise. You lift your head sharply, as if startled, and take off. He does not seem to feel fear at this, but he leaves as well.

It is not long until he comes again, his human meal devoured more thoroughly than usual. You wonder, only briefly, if your encounter caused him stress. You decide it is fine if this is the case. He came back.

 _That_ is what matters.

You keep eyes on him, feel from the earth under his feet what he does. You contemplate. You watch. His shoulders are low, relaxed. His ever-anxious gaze lazes around from thing to thing, rather than darting around like a rabbit.

He is calmer than usual.

This is a pleasing turn of events. You need him to be calm. You could do anything you want to him in that poor, mortal state, but you _want_ it to be more elegant than that. It _needs_ to be perfect.

You had decided while waiting for him to come back that the next time he seemed relaxed you would wear the skin of a buck, and see his reaction. You don’t want to take too long. You haven’t decided when, yet, but you will be wearing a human skin soon. You are without form, naturally – but you can feel your excitement shake down into the roots of the trees.

You watch him, in the trees. Among the trees. You wait until he is almost finished burying the barely-recognizable-as-human body. He is always most relaxed once he is done. As he is filling in the last of the dirt, you approach. Your form is stunning, you are sure. You chose it for that reason. It was a young buck, but large, with great antlers. You want to see how he will feel in the presence of something that is more dangerous than his skin is.

You make the progress of only a few steps and he’s turned around, facing you. You do not cut off his retreat this time. He does not try to run. You can see the fear in his eyes, however. There are many layers to it. He recognizes you. He recognizes you as something powerful, yes, and there is fear for that, but he knows you are the same one as the last time. The other animals have left him alone.

This was part of your plan. He will know you are the One thing in this place that is worthy of approaching him. He, like you, is greater than the mortal creatures of the woods. Including humans, of course. You will show him his rightful place, soon. Soon.

You raise your snout and lock eyes with him to give the appearance of looking down your nose at him, even though he is taller. You need to see how he will react if you do not back down. Will he be afraid and try to run, like prey? Or will he attempt to predate you?

He…speaks. He assumes a defensive posture, casually, and you see his mouth move, watch the shapes and his teeth behind them. Soft sounds come out. His voice reminds you of the wind, but you can understand the sounds the wind makes. You have no hope of comprehending what he’s just said to you. The only human words you are familiar with anymore are ‘no!’ and ‘stop!’ and he hasn’t said either of those at least. Or your grasp on time has loosened again and the regional language has changed. Or he is from somewhere else.

His eyes dart from a tree, to a tree, to you, to a tree. He can’t seem to bear keeping eye contact with you, but he still doesn’t try to run. You wonder what he’s said, but nothing here knows either. He continues, his hands moving with his mouth. You step absently forward, trying to interpret what he means. His motions are desperate, but not wild. Not calculated, not meant to keep you calm. You can only assume he’s trying to get you to speak. You could, but he would not know it was speech. You can only assume he’s asking you questions. You would answer if you only knew what they were.

You _want_ to rush him. You want to see the fear reignite in his eyes, see if he defends himself like the predator he is, or if he runs, like the prey he attempts to be. You consider your options, and instead walk closer to him at a calm pace. When you are close, you lower your head, point the spears on your head at him.

You _want_ to pin him to a tree, shed his skin for him, but you do not. His heart is beating at a normal pace. _He is not afraid of you_. You’re overjoyed. You grunt at him, and he still doesn’t start, and you _want_ him to attack, to show something of his true nature, but nothing happens. You can still see himself writhing under his skin, though, more furiously than before.

This is accomplishing nothing. The next time you see him you will wear a human skin, though, in the meantime, you’ll need to get the speaking-birds to remind you how to speak and understand language, but you are tired of waiting. You may be eternal, but you are not patient. You lift your head, look him in the eyes, turn, and leave.

He puts out a shaking arm and catches himself on a tree, once you are out of his sight. There is nowhere he can go in your woods that he will be out of your sight, so you watch him. He sits and stares at his hands, his arms. You can only wonder at what he is thinking. After many hours, he leaves.

He calls out to you the next time he arrives, but by now you have learned the local language from the birds. Once again, the forest shudders at your excitement. This time you are going to wear a human skin. This time will be the last.

You remember _things_ about your old human form, and you fashion them into your disguise. The simple, easy to remember parts of yourself that you felt comfortable in. There were other, less comfortable things though, that you don’t remember. That you chose to forget. Your human form did not bring love to itself. There was a reason why you became what you became, and it wasn’t a soft one.

You take all those favorable parts, and replace the parts you don’t care to remember with something fake, something idealized. You won’t look human in this skin, you know, but looking mortal is not your aim.

You cannot remember if you were male or female when you were human, or perhaps you were neither, as you are now, so you borrow that much from him. You remember at the last moment that in a human form, being unclothed may make him uncomfortable, and so you don robes made from the forest. You settle this form on the forest floor, feeling detached from the skin in a disorienting way, and begin to move toward him.

You are certain that your movements are inhuman. Moving like a human is so far removed from what you have become used to since you were one. Effortlessly, slowly, you glide across the space that divides the two of you. He simply stands. His eyes watch you with fear, with admiration. With awe.

Human eyes see differently than those you are used to. They see colors and shapes in a simpler way, but…with these human eyes you see him the way a human would, and he is _beautiful_. If you were not convinced you wanted him for your own before, you are certain now. His hair reminds you of wheat – something you remember seeing a lot of when you were human, his eyes a perfect, inhuman blue.

You come close to him, perhaps too close, as he flinches, and lift your hand near his face. He cannot move, although you do not know if he knows he cannot move, you do not know if he has tried.

With some effort, he speaks. “Who…are you?” he whispers, avoiding the more obvious question. But, he wants to be on your good side, you assume. He must feel trapped, he must realize he is. You almost laugh, but having a physical form is strange, and so, instead, the wind carries your intent and your laughter ruffles the leaves on the trees. Your voice is inhumanly perfect when you answer.

“Do you mean my name?” You are almost sure that your voice carries on the wind, instead of falling from your lips. You draw your hand closer but still you do not touch his soft, weak skin. “I am far too old for names. I am the forest. The forest is a part of me. You already knew that, though, didn’t you? What I want to know, is, who are _you_?” You feel your face warp, your smile perhaps a bit too wide for a human’s face. You allow it to stretch a bit wider as you continue, “ _Who are you, that you still wear the skin of a human after death_?”

You watch as the fear in his eyes wells up, now he knows that he cannot move. You convey a sense of calm to him through the insects walking among his feet, and he visibly relaxes. His eyes cloud over slightly. He puts up almost no effort to resist your pull. He has promise, true, but he is still _so_ young.

His voice drips out of his mouth, not entirely at his own command. “L-Lawrence…. I’m…I…what are you? Where – where am I?” The fear in his eyes crackles.

“Shh-shh, little one. Sit down. Do not be afraid of _me_. I would never hurt you.” Your smile recedes into a more human one, and he complies. “We are nowhere special, just the forest. And I, am the same thing you are.”

“You are _not_ human,” he whispers, almost hisses, his voice more sturdy than it has been, trying to convince himself he is different from you. You laugh softly.

“And you are? Child, I know what you have seen, where you have been. I could smell it on you a _mile_ away. It is okay. You are safe here. I will not hunt you the way that they do. I will not hate you the way that they do. I will not hurt you the way that they do. Tell me what you remember about that place. It has been long since I have seen the river.”

His eyes light up and he sits up sharply as you say that, the fear dissipating with only that word. “You – What?” He looks almost like he is going to cry. He longs down at his hands for a long moment, and laughs quietly. “It was endless, colorless…. Less of a ‘where’ and more of a ‘feeling,’” he says, having obvious difficulties describing it. This comes as no surprise to you. The river does not want to be remembered. It tells you its name when you see it, and then, it tries to push you away, along to the next destination. One that the few, such as yourself and Lawrence, never see, and, in the end, decide they never want to.

You look up, and there is a strong wind, and you can see the stars through the moving branches of the trees. “It always reminded me of the night sky,” you say, trying to make yourself seem vulnerable. You are still impatient. “Child, after you saw the river, after you drifted there, you crawled back into your old human skin, or, perhaps, even one that was just nearby. But, if you shed that skin, you can become like me, and we can stay here. _Together_.”

You can see him considering this, but you can also see the fear creeping back into him. You want this choice to be his – _it’ll be so much more beautiful if he does this to himself_ – but he is not allowed to deny you.

You sigh. “Listen, child, _Lawrence_ , I need you to depend on me…,” you don’t mean it, you don’t _need_ him, although you do _want_ him. But you know it’s a sentiment he can understand, you can see the understanding behind his eyes. He knows that feeling, and he doesn’t want to disappoint, knowing now he has found someone who’s the same as himself. Having seen what awaits him, if only he lets go of the scraps of humanity draped over his shoulders. “The entire forest is my responsibility. Everything within it depends on me. But you’re different…. You’re _like me_. I need another _person_ to depend on me…,” you whisper, your voice laced in honey and old magic, to make him _just a little_ more susceptible to what you are saying.

Still, he hesitates. He shifts uncomfortably and opens his mouth to speak, but you quiet him. “I’ll tell you a story, then.

“Once, I was just a human. I was young. I lived happily with other people, although I had no blood family. I was found and the people of my home took care of me, even though I was different from them. I _looked_ different from them. I aged, as humans do, and I changed, as humans do. I drew eyes, _hateful_ eyes. But I was still a child. I was scared, and alone, and I didn’t know what to do when those I once had cared about looked at me with malice. I aimed to please. I did everything everyone wanted of me, and soon, I became ill. I couldn’t stop coughing, I couldn’t breathe as blood and other fluids filled my lungs. They changed completely, acted as if they loved me again. But they did not. I know this now. I passed into the realm of the river. I felt safe; at home. I did not want to leave.

“As time passed, though, the feeling changed. I felt like I was slowly waking up, becoming aware of the things around me in ways I had not previously considered. I understood how to hear the wind, speak to the animals. When I opened my eyes again, I was back here, in the forest. I knew exactly where I was. I ran home, back to the village. I do not know how long I had been gone, but the hateful looks were back, and now they looked at me with fear. I was so glad to be back home – but they attacked me. Called me a demon. A spirit. A fey. I took action. I killed every one of them, and then I meant to do the same to myself, but I realized something as I split my skin. With each drop of blood I lost, I was drifting closer and closer back to the river. I do not know how long I spent there than time, but I never fully came back, and now here I am.” You smile. “And you can join me. All you have to do is shed your skin.” You hold out to him an old, old knife, still sharp, always ready.

It was never going to be too difficult to convince him, you realize, he’ll do anything to see the river again. As you had mentioned it, the last embers of fear drained out of him. It’s the last place he truly felt at home. At the last second, your suspicions are confirmed, as he asks, “I’ll see the river again?”

“Of course you will. And then you will never have to be _alone_ again.” You place the knife into his hand. All at once, he turns it on himself and plunges, your hand still gripping his. You help him drag it all the way down to let out his soul, your human disguise slipping away as that smile comes back and splits across the face you had been wearing. “ _I’ll be here waiting for your return_ ,” you whisper, as you watch him bleed out, alone, on the forest floor. You draw no small amount of pleasure from the sight.

Once you are certain he is gone, you feel around his insides, the hands you can barely feel through gliding along across his bones. It will take him a while to come back. But this is the place where he shed his skin. This is the place he will return to, once his soul learns to think without a body. The parts of him will slowly pull back together, but you have no idea how long this will take. You have no idea how long it took _you_ except your body was nothing but dirt and maggots by the time you knew you existed again. It will be hard for him, at first. But he will learn how to be what you and he are.

You press gently at his eyes, those perfect, beautifully expressive eyes, now showing nothing. Now, hiding nothing. He is no longer wearing this skin. Now it is yours. You tell the others they cannot have it. You will keep it for him. He will be different from you. You will make sure he remembers who he was. He will never become more than you so long as he remembers being mortal. And he will never leave.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblrs are teethandclawsxx.tumblr.com (gore) and faerie-wolf.tumblr.com (personal), hmu!! but please only send messages about this (or other naughty stuff) to teeth bc i try to keep the other one clean!


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